The Masquerade Ball
by PhoenixTailAndHolly
Summary: Ron and Hermione are in their seventh year. To commemorate the natural death of Dumbledore, a masked and costumed ball is held. A Romione fiction set in an AU where Voldemort did not return at book 4.
1. Preparations

**Author's note:** This story takes place at Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts. In a dramatic step away from canon, the wizarding war never took place, and Voldemort never returned. Harry is still the-boy-who-lived, but the main story events with Voldemort of "The Goblet of Fire" and onwards never took place. The Triwizard tournament has been won by Cedric Diggory. Ron and Hermione had their major fight over the Yule Ball. Ron did hook up with Lavender, but they broke up just before Dumbledore's natural death at the end of their sixth year. His friendship/relationship with Hermione has been simmering ever since, and though neither has had the courage to speak openly about their feelings, they are starting to draw closer together.

* * *

The Costumed Ball

A new year at Hogwarts was about to begin. New faces peered up at her as she rose from her seat, just as old faces had left. Cho Chang, a bright Ravenclaw had finished her seventh year, as had her much less talented friend Marietta. Colin Creevy had decided not to continue his career, after raking in a more than adequate six O. . Most of them were actually high marks: several E's and even an O. He had the same streak of independence the Weasley twins had possessed though, and wanted to open a photography shop.

The new faces were filled with wonder, as they ever had. For more than a decade she had been in charge of the sorting ceremony, guiding the youngsters into the great hall for their first time, calling their names in order, and guiding them to their respective tables. It pained her that she was no longer able to do so, but the speech she was going to deliver today would certainly make up for that loss. The exclusive use of the Headmaster's chamber was also a very welcome perk.

'For those who are new to Hogwarts's halls and corridors,' she said, the general murmur and hubbub in the Great Hall dying out after the first words, 'I bid you a heartfelt welcome. Hogwarts will be your home for the next few years, and I hope you will find what you seek within its magnificent walls. Be it friendship, knowledge, courage, or loyalty, Hogwarts is open for all.'

Now came the hardest part of her speech. She steeled her resolve, not allowing her emotions to seep through. 'Those of you who were with us last year will know that Hogwarts has recently endured a significant loss. Headmaster Dumbledore, an iconic figure for our school and perhaps one of its finest headmasters passed away at the respectable age of one-hundred-and-fifteen. As grief for our former headmaster slowly makes way for fond remembrance, I would like to propose a toast.'

As one, the students and staff raised their glasses. 'To headmaster Albus Dumbledore.'

Everyone but her sat down again. The hardest part was over. Now for the lighter part of her speech. She wondered how it would be received. 'The teachers and staff of Hogwarts felt that it would be considerate to host a small event in commemoration of our former headmaster.' Several of the students who had been talking amongst themselves turned their heads to her. Others exchanged quick glances. A break from tradition was always exciting to the students.

'Hogwarts will host a Costumed Ball on October 31st.' She paused, deliberately. More students exchanged glances, and several began to whisper amongst each other. She waited for them to fall quiet again. All eyes in the Great Hall were fixed on her. Absolute silence.

'Asking wizards to a fancy dress party should be the recipe for some spectacular costumes. Each of you shall design and create your own dress and mask. The object of the ball is to become unrecognizable to your fellow students. I am quite certain that an inventive and creative group of young individuals such as yourselves will have no trouble creating a good outfit for the day, including a mask.'

'The ball will be opened at seven 'o clock,' she continued, 'and will last until twelve 'o clock exactly. During that time, the staff will grade all students who enter, and will choose who amongst the boys and who amongst the girls has the best costume and mask. You will be graded on originality, quality, and effort.'

'During the ball there will be music, and there will be dancing. Boys can breathe easy; you will not need to enter in couples, so there is no need to ask a girl out for the ball.' She could not resist seeking out two of the eldest Gryffindor's. Their heated fight after the Yule ball was quickly becoming something of a legend at Hogwarts. She saw them exchange a brief glance. The girl looked at the boy in mild amusement, which turned into a shy smile when she met his confident stare. It emanated an unspoken implication that he would have asked her anyways. Barely two seats away from them, Potter and Ginny Weasley rolled their eyes.

'Entering the great hall in disguise,' she spoke, 'You will remain masked until such time that another masked student can positively identify you. Using an unmasking spell you shall be taught during charms, we shall see which students can remain unmasked the longest. The winner will be awarded one hundred house points for demonstrating excellent skill.'

This small detail caused an avalanche of discussion amongst the students. It took nearly five minutes for the hall to quiet down sufficiently for her to make the usual round of introductions of new staff members, and general notices.

'Let's dine!' she said, clapping her hands. Food appeared at all of the tables.

'Well spoken,' said professor Flitwick as she sat down again, 'I can already see some students's minds running overtime thinking of costume ideas.'

'I wonder who will surprise us most,' she replied, 'I'm quite sure more than one of them will be able to make themselves unrecognizable.'

* * *

Ronald Weasley was sitting in the common room, his heels resting comfortably on the table and his hands propped behind his head. He was lounging, and it infuriated her. Knowing full-well what admonishing his behaviour would accomplish (nothing), Hermione decided to change tactics.

'So, Ron,' she said, looking up from her Ancient Runes essay, 'Is your costume coming along nicely?'

Ron opened his eyes and looked at her. A slight smile played on his lips. 'I can't complain,' he said vaguely. Hermione had noticed that Ron spent even less time working on his costume as he had spent preparing for his N.E.W.T.s. Though his grades had been in a lift since fourth year (with the glaring exceptions of History of Magic and Divination), it had never seemed to Hermione that Ron had spent less time at school doing actual schoolwork.

'You still have not told us anything about it,' she said, hoping he would take the bite. He didn't.

'I plan to keep it that way. It would be a bit of a disappointment if I entered the Great Hall in a magnificent costume, only to be recognized by my costume itself.'

'But everyone has said something about their outfit. You don't have to be explicit. Just tell us something trivial or cryptic.'

Ron seemed to be mulling it over. Though the people around them seemed to be going on about their business, Hermione could tell everyone was listening in. Two fourth year Gryffindors were playing a game of wizarding chess, but neither had made a move in a while. Lavender (who's constant presence around Ron irritated Hermione to no end) had stopped talking with Parvati, and Harry's scribbling in his Defence notes had also come to an end. 'I guess I could tell you something. Something ridiculous.'

Hermione nodded, trying to keep her poker face in place.

Ron opened his mouth, but said nothing. Then, with a half-smile on his face, he closed his eyes and settled back into his chair.

'Y-You didn't say anything,' Hermione blurted out in frustration. She hated that Ron had not let anything go about his costume yet. She had made notes of every Gryffindor (and many of the other students she regularly spoke to), collecting anything about their costumes as possible. It was hard filtering out the lies from the truth.

'You're wrong,' Ron said, 'I did say something ridiculous.'

'No, you didn't!', she replied, a bit more furious than she had intended. The beginnings of a row were visible, even to her. She hated rowing with Ron. It had been fun once, an original dynamic between the two of them. She could easily tell the difference between actual rows (like the time when Crookshanks had been accused of Scabbers's murder, or right after the Yule Ball) and playful rowing about things neither of them really cared about. After a while though, somewhere at the start of their sixth year, Hermione had begun feeling rather miffed when they rowed.

Oddly enough, it had been a row between both of them that had caused Ron to break up with Lavender. Oh, how many times had she sworn that she was going to get over him during those horrible months? Not that it had mattered, she was only falling deeper and deeper in love with him. It had been four months at least until they had gotten back on speaking terms, and another two until Ron grudgingly admitted to be more than unhappy about his relationship with Lavender. He had described it was being in a relationship with the giant squid. In a rare private moment between him and her, Ron had admitted never having felt anything real for Lavender, and that he was sorry about hurting her feelings. She had come close to kissing him then, but he was still with Lavender, and she would not be the other woman, even if it felt the other way around to her.

'Are you going to tell me off for not studying, or what?' Ron asked irritably.

'Excuse me?' she said.

'That was the plan, right?' he continued, putting his feet on the ground and sitting up, 'Asking me about my costume, and then telling me off for not studying for my N.E.W.T.s enough?'

'What makes you think I was going to tell you off?' she replied hotly, knowing full well that he'd hit the nail on the head, 'It couldn't have just been friendly interest?'

'I know you better than that, Hermione.' Ron replied hotly, 'I saw your chastising looks right before you were suddenly interested in my costume. I heard you mutter and shake your head a minute earlier. Just because you spend all of your time studying, doesn't mean you get to take the fun out of other peoples's lives.'

'Take the fun out of other peoples's lives? Aren't you being a bit melodramatic?' she said fiercely, 'If you want to fail your N.E.W.T.s, that is your business, not mine.'

'Oh,' Ron said, getting up. His tall frame towered over her. 'So you assume I am going to fail? You assume I can't do things on my own, so you have to help me to keep me from failing? Well guess what, Hermione? I can do things on my own.'

His voice had been spiteful in the beginning, but it had ended with a heavy note of frustration. Hermione had learned to read Ron's emotions just as well as Ron had claimed to know her. His assumption that Hermione thought he was not going to pass his N.E.W.T.s stemmed from his long line of self-deprecation and lack of confidence. Ron was touchy about his abilities, which was why criticism fell hard on him, and compliments were met with unbridled enthusiasm. It was one of the reasons she had started to loath her arguments with him. She never intended to hurt him, but for some reason, Ron always found a way to make what she said into an attack at his person. All she wanted was to help him, why could he not see that?

Ron turned tail and stormed out of the portrait hole. It was after-hours, but as a prefect, Ron had the excuse of being on his rounds. She doubted if the teachers ever really bought his lie (rounds were scheduled and always involved both prefects of the same house), but they had never made a problem of it.

Ron had been out-of-bounds a lot lately. She had noticed it because she spent a more than healthy amount of time looking at him from behind her notes. Ron had been roaming the castle on and off almost the entire year. She had asked Harry for the Marauders Map to check up on him, but Harry had refused, claiming that Ron was a grown up, and could manage himself without her checking up on him. She more than suspected that Ron had instructed Harry about that line.

Sighing in frustration, she buried herself in her essay again. She would talk to him on their actual prefect rounds next Thursday. It had been the prefect rounds that had gotten them on speaking terms again last year. The regular long walks through the castle had thawed the icy stares and melted the steely resolve that had kept them at war for so long. They were still the highlights of her week, the three hours of (generally) uninterrupted private time between them allowing them to talk a little more freely than with Harry around.

Harry had been what had brought them together in their first year. Without him, she assumed Ron and her would have never been friends. Far from it. Ron had been insensitive and harsh to her up until the moment that troll tried to kill her. She assumed Ron would have started bullying her within a few months, had that never happened.

On the prefect rounds, Ron was different. Harry brought out different sides to Ron. Sides she had taken for granted until they had spent some time alone. The prefect rounds made her notice his kinder, softer side. He was gallant, for instance, opening doors for her, and holding the umbrella above her head, claiming it was too small for two and he didn't mind the rain. She was too pleased with it to suggest an enlargement charm. Ron was also freer. Harry brought out a side of Ron that was guarded. Having grown up in an environment filled with older brothers, Ron had learned to keep his thoughts to himself. He opened up slightly with just her around, though she doubted if he would ever be completely open to anybody. Ron would lapse into lengthy periods of silence, and then suddenly surprise her by telling her his opinion about something, or with a kind compliment he had not wanted to share with anyone else. He had even told her she had looked pretty one day, a few nights after he had broken up with Lavender. It still brought a little colour to her cheeks thinking about it.

'I'm going to bed,' she sighed, knowing she was not going to get any more work done this night, 'Good night everybody.' She picked up her stuff and walked up to the head girl chamber. Being head girl allowed her to have her own room (thankfully; she could no longer stand to be around Lavender too long any more) but really didn't mean much more than being a prefect. It was in rare occasions that she would be responsible for more than making an agenda for prefect meetings, or casting a deciding vote in case of a tie.

* * *

Ron left the common room and headed down to the third floor corridor. He had been visiting it often, and unlike what some people thought, had spent quite an amount of time on both his costume and his studies. He met none of the teachers on his way there, and though some of the portraits muttered angrily about a student out of bed, he paid them no mind. He opened the charms classroom at the end of the corridor, which held the Gryffindor costumes. Ron could see all of the small cubicles that had been erected to house the costumes of the students. The only cubicle he would be able to open was the third from right, at the fifth aisle; his own cubicle.

His costume was largely done. He had spent just a few minutes to gather the materials for his costume; those were common cloths and really not all that special. The magic he had used to complete his costume was a different story altogether. Ron had spent hours at the library (obviously after hours, he did not want any of his fellow students finding out about what he was looking up, especially not Hermione) looking up the required spellbooks. He had brought them with him to his cubicle, a stack of eighteen books, ranging from heavy tomes to thin instruction manuals. Some of the books were just studying material. Ron could focus on his N.E.W.T. preparations a lot easier out of the loud mess that was the Gryffindor common room. Hermione might think he was not studying, but he would show her.

On top of his charms spellbook, an archaic tome written in old English, lay his mask. It was his pride, the piece-de-resistance. It had started out as a simple paper pulp mask, but he had charmed it into something much more than that. It had taken some very advanced spellwork to make it do what it needed to do, but Ron had managed to complete it a few days ago. He was very tempted to try it on, but he didn't want to disturb the mask any more than was strictly necessary. He had transfigured it, fortified it, coloured it, expanded on it by adding details, and finally charmed it. Ron thought it was perfect now.

He looked at the rest of the outfit. He would have to sew up just a few more parts. The charmed mask would take care of most of the rest. Ron took out his wand and set the needle and thread to work as he took out his transfiguration homework. It was good that he had taken an hour of rest. He felt refreshed and ready to start working.


	2. Finishing Touches

By the end of October, most of the students were in such an excited mood that teaching transfiguration had become an almost impossible task. The first years, always a difficult class because everything was new and exciting to them, were almost all daydreaming about what the Costumed Ball would be like. She had helped quite a few of them with their costumes (you could not expect a first year student to be able to construct a costume on their own), and though some of them would be among the first to be recognised, there were some notable exceptions. One of the students had been particularly inventive and would be dressed as a chicken, complete with wings and beak.

From fourth year and up, the students had not needed any assistance. She wondered how many of them would have spent enough time on their costumes for them to really be impressive. Winning one hundred house points was an enormous swing for the house competition, which was currently dominated by Hufflepuff house, after a smashing defeat on Ravenclaw. Her Gryffindor (she still considered it her house, even though Hagrid had officially taken over that duty from her this year) was in third place, but only ten points from Slytherin. The two houses were continually switching positions, as points were awarded for good behaviour, and points were deducted for cheating or wandering out-of-bounds.

She had discussed the costumes of many students. Many of them sought her out for finer details about their masks or their costumes. Gryffindors mostly, but a good helping from the other houses too. Some of them had been vague; unwilling to discuss their costumes even with the headmistress. Others had been concrete, but had adamantly refused her to see the costume itself. It was difficult work, helping those students.

She was now facing the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins. It was one of the more quiet classes, as many of the students had not returned for N.E.W.T. level studying. Mister Weasley was nodding off. Miss Granger looked at him disapprovingly. Apparently, they had been rowing again. Potter was ignoring both of them, doodling in the margin of his notes.

'Mister Weasley,' she said loudly, waking him up properly, 'Would you care to repeat to me the five steps required to perform cross-material transfiguration?' Weasley had the dignity to at least look ashamed. Miss Granger muttered under her breath, probably whispering the answers to him.

'I can do this on my own,' he said, giving her an irritated look. Miss Granger lapsed into a silence, her eyes wide in shock. Potter straightened and observed his best friends.

'Texture, colouring, shape, weight, detail,' he said, summing up the list in its most basic form. It was the correct answer.

'And how do we-'

'-check if those five steps have been completed correctly?' he finished for her, 'By examining the object with all of our senses. We touch it, taste it, smell it, listen to it. If you transfigure a bone into a branch, it should not smell like a crypt.'

Most of the students laughed at this bit of humour, as did she. It was a pleasant surprise to see that mister Weasley had been reading up ahead of her lecture for today. She made a mental note to check his progress better in the coming weeks.

'See,' she heard him say, just before she intended to continue her own lecture. Miss Granger looked at him with an almost reverend expression.

* * *

Hermione sighed as she removed the stitches that her needle and thread had woven just moments ago. She was great at spellwork, but for some reason could not keep her attention on the needle and thread long enough. She would be thinking about what Charms she would have to perform on her N.E.W.T. exam, or if she had read enough to be able to answer the questions at the ancient runes exam. To top it off, her mind insisted on thinking about Ron every other second, and if she but half allowed her to get distracted, the needle and thread would veer from their intended paths and start travelling on their own.

'I'm sure glad this is the final stitch,' she sighed to nobody in particular, 'I can't believe I cut it this close.' It was two days until the Costumed Ball, and Hermione had hoped to be finished long before that. Studying for her N.E.W.T.s had held her back in the common room though, and though she'd had a wonderful idea for a costume, she had not been able to implement it as she had liked. Some of the minor details had been the first to go, and though it was still an impressive costume, she felt it could have been much better if she had been able to spend more time on it.

'I wonder what he's made,' she thought, stopping the needle and thread as they finished the last stitches. She put them away and looked at her costume critically. It was nice. The mask was not as elaborate as she had hoped, nor was she able to finish the costume with her preferred level of detail. It was still beautiful though, and she hoped it would be a while before anybody unmasked her.

'I'll murder him if he hasn't finished his costume in time,' Hermione thought, 'Or if he didn't spend any effort on it.'

A pang of guilt consumed her. She was being overly harsh on him again. She had not seen Ron around the third floor corridor since the start of the year, but that did not mean he had not been there. Perhaps he had just been busy working on his costume and mask elsewhere. There were several students that had decided to create their costumes in their dormitory. They had charmed the hangers of their beds to keep anyone from looking through them (a charm never taught at Hogwarts, but known by all the students). Others worked on their costumes during free periods, or after dinner.

It wasn't like Ron had not surprised her before. He had been reading up ahead of McGonagall's lectures, no matter how often he insisted it was just a lucky guess. He was obviously cramming in his preparations for the N.E.W.T. studies, at some hour. She suspected he did it in bed.

Hermione gingerly stepped into her outfit and put on the mask. The magic she had instilled in it was simple but effective. The costume came to life at the right places, and the glamour that hid her face was perfectly executed.

'One more obstacle for this year taken,' she thought as she checked the time. Seeing that she had ten minutes until her prefects rounds would start, she took off the costume again, and carefully placed it back into its hangers.

* * *

Ron saw Hermione emerge from the stair leading up to the portrait hole. He walked up to meet her tensely. They had barely exchanged a word since transfiguration, Hermione scurrying off to her costume almost immediately after the end of class. Ron had been worried that she had been angry with him. When they made eye contact however, Ron realized she was far from angry with him. Hermione treated him with a radiant smile, asking him if he was ready for their rounds.

'Let's go,' he said, indicating one of the corridors. 'You seem very happy, any special reasons?'

Hermione looked up at him with an even broader smile, and informed him that she had just put the finishing touches on her costume.

'Wow,' he said, 'Well done!'

'What about yours?' she asked, still smiling broadly.

'I finished it a couple of weeks ago,' he said, unable to keep a slight hint of pride from his voice. 'I'm rather proud of it actually.'

'A couple of weeks ago?' Hermione said, in a voice of mock concern, 'Who are you and what have you done to Ronald?'

'Oh shush you,' he said, already enjoying this prefect round, and very happy that they would take another two hours at least. 'I've been expanding on it a little these past few weeks, so I guess you could say I only finished last night.'

'Last night?' she said. Ron chastised himself inwardly. He had not wanted her to know that. 'You mean you spent all those times out-of-bounds on your costume?' He remained silent, hoping she would let it drop.

'I sat up waiting for you to return last time. I – err – _borrowed_ Harry's coat. I sat down on the girls's stairs and waited for you to return. I think I fell asleep around two. You got back in at four!'

'So?'

'Ron, there are more important things than winning the house championship!' she exclaimed, genuine concern thick in her voice, 'Ron, I want you to pass your N.E.W.T.s. Please tell me you've not sacrificed your time studying just to have a nice costume!'

'I didn't,' Ron assured her, 'Don't worry about me, Hermione, I'll be fine. I'll have you know I've rarely spent this much time in both the library or on my homework.'

'The library?' Hermione said, 'I haven't seen you in there all year.'

'Let's just say you are not the only one who is able to borrow Harry's cloak.'

Their time together passed in high spirit. Hermione surprised him by suggesting they take a shortcut so they could sit on a marble bench near the statue of Herpo the Foul. Ron had been carrying Hermione's bag, which now lay discarded next to the bench. He was seated silently next to her, plucking up the courage to ask her. He was staring at the statue. He had felt so confident at the start of term feast, but barely any of the confidence was left.

'Hermione?' he asked, hoping her name would get him going.

'Yes, Ron?' she said, her eyes focussed on the floor. She was sitting so still she could have been a statue herself.

'I wanted to ask you something,' he said, slower and more articulate than her normally did.

'Ask me what?' she said. Ron noticed her breathing had become more laboured. He wondered if she was feeling as nervous as he was.

'I know it's not strictly necessary this time,' he continued, 'And I don't want you to feel obligated in any way, but would you like to go to the ball with me?'

Absolute stony silence. Ron thought the entire castle had gone so quiet that if somebody dropped a quill in Hogsmeade, they would be able to hear it hit the floor. Hermione's breath was even more uneven and laboured than before. He was on the point of asking her if she was okay, when..

'I would love to, Ronald.'

They both released a deep sigh. Ron looked over at Hermione, just as she finally stopped her inspection of the flagstones on the floor and looked up at him. Ron started laughing, and Hermione joined him not a second later. There they were; two adult wizards. They had fought against murderers and dark wizards, but the terror of asking her out on a date had them quaking in their boots. What a sight.

After a while, Hermione said they had to continue their rounds. The air around them had changed. Ron could feel that an important obstacle had been lifted between them. He felt bolder, more direct and clear in his affections to her. Hermione's acceptance to be what could only be called his date seemed to imply that she wanted to be with him like he wanted to be with her. And that implied that she wanted to be with him romantically, which in turn implied that she might just have the same feelings for him as he did for her. Suddenly, all those reasons he had for not telling her outright that he was in love with her made little sense. Suddenly, all of those things she had told him, little compliments that he assumed were made out of friendship, could be turned into cautious flirtations.

They spent two more hours walking around the corridors until they ended up in front of the portrait hole.

'Hello dears,' the fat lady said, 'Password please.'

Hermione did not reply. She was biting her lip, and pushed some of her hair out of her face. She looked like she was on the point of asking him something, but couldn't quite find the words for it.

'You do remember the password?'

Hermione startled out of her revelry, and looked at the fat lady. 'Demasque', she said. The fat lady lazily swung open.

When she had opened up completely, Hermione did a quick glance into the common room. At this hour, it was deserted.

'I know you did not need to ask,' she said, 'but it meant a lot to me none the less.'

Then, she did something Ron had never expected. She kissed his cheek. Just once. It was tender, and slow. He breathed in the smell of her, savouring it while she made her way through the portrait hole. He felt stunned. What little doubt he had of her feelings for him was now gone. His fingers reached out to touch the spot she had kissed as he watched her climb the stairs to the head girl's room.

'Very touching,' the fat lady said, 'but I'm not going to sit here all day you know.'

He quickly got through the portrait hole.


	3. Conclusions

The great hall had been closed off to students all day long. Many of the teachers had contributed to the decorations. It turned out that Hogwarts had hosted costumed balls before, and that there were some very interesting decorations stashed away in the school's storage. An enormous gold-and-silver venetian mask hung from the rafters of the great hall, which could change expressions. It had been found sulking in a corner of storage hold seven, deep under the school's dungeons. Its expression had turned to surprise, then open weeping when Flitwick indicated that it was going to be used as a decoration. Apparently, it had been sitting there for quite some time.

Professor Sprout had decorated the chairs and tables with a hybrid of her own making; a plant that could change its shape, colour, and smell. She had asked her whether the ministry was aware of this particular hybrid, to which Sprout had merely shrugged her shoulders. Pomona was a brilliant herbologist, but not much of a bureaucrat. Someday, it was either going to get her into trouble, or make her really famous. She hoped it would be the latter.

Her own addition to the party had been the dance floor. A raised dais, it allowed costumed students that still had their masks on to dance on it, but got smaller whenever anyone was unmasked. At the end, when only two students would be left, the platform would only be four square meter, and it would be raised high above the rest. The conclusion was going to be spectacular!

Again, she wondered at who would be the last students left on the platform. Probably two of the seventh or sixth years, but one or two of the fifth year students might just surprise everyone. Patrick Ottery was very crafty; she had seen his decorations for the Ravenclaw quidditch team last match and had been more than impressed. He had created an enormous flying raven from some ruined bedsheets, which looked amazingly lifelike. It was a pity that it flew away after the snitch was caught by the Hufflepuff seeker.

She had high hopes for Hermione Granger too. That girl was far too brilliant for her own good. Her knowledge of spells and incantations was quickly surpassing that of many of the teachers. Severus remained unimpressed, claiming he knew much of what she did, and more. Severus conveniently forgot to mention that miss Granger was not half his age, and had a less than a third of his time to study the magical arts.

The teachers had set up a quick betting pool on who would be the last student left on stage. She had bet ten galleons on miss Granger, still in conflict about the Ottery boy, but finally deciding it would not do to bet on a boy not from her own house. Severus had set three galleons on a Slytherin boy called Mandrogan, which was a talented sixth year student. She suspected that the potions master had given the boy more than a helping hand.

The only professors that had not taken part in the bet were Binns and Trelawny. Binns because he had no money to spend, and would more than likely forget the ball altogether. Trelawny had been in a rather interesting dilemma. When she had announced at the staff table that there was going to be a betting pool, Trelawny had smiled; obviously certain her powers as a seer would give her the correct answer. Severus had not been able to resist commenting that if her bet was wrong, he would start to seriously doubt he powers of premonition. Ouch. Trelawny had changed her premonition over four times before dropping out altogether claiming that "the stars were unable to see who would win. All is in flux." She had taken to saying that out loud at every opportune moment.

'Headmistress?' she hear Flitwick say behind her, 'The preparations are finished. The doors will open in five minutes.'

'Good,' she said, her voice muffled by her own mask, 'Be sure to ready your costume.'

Anticipation coursed her veins. She could hear a crowd of students had gathered in front of the doors already. This was going to be her first official Hogwarts event as headmistress. It was going to run smoothly. It had to.

'Headmistress?' she heard another voice say behind her. It was muffled too, and when she turned, she saw the costume of professor Trelawny. It was a ridiculous costume of a large black dog. Though she was obviously not very gifted at arts and crafts, she had to give professor Trelawny credit for showing up. It was not mandatory.

'Yes, Sybill?'

'The stars have aligned,' she said, 'but I would like to enter the pool with some… discretion.'

'That won't be a problem,' she replied, 'Who would you like to bet on?'

'I would like to place a bet on mister Weasley,' she said, 'two knuts.'

_Oh well_, she thought, _at least she won't be poor if the stars were aligned wrong._

'Just two knuts?' she asked, more out of curiosity than out of anything else.

'Yes,' she said, 'It felt wrong to make money out of my gift of foresight. Many of those blessed with the inner eye feel the same scruples about these things. It is more of a symbolic gesture.'

For some reason, she suspected that if Weasley actually won, her discretion about Trelawny joining the betting pool would no longer be necessary.

'Very well,' she replied, 'I have you down for two knuts on Weasley winning.'

The music started to play. With a flick of her wand, the doors to the great hall were unlocked. They slowly came into movement, revealing at least half the student body standing in the entrance hall. The excitement surged to new heights.

* * *

Hermione stood silently at the corner of the entrance hall. The doors were opening. The ball was starting. Not all of the students had arrived yet. She had figured that there were two strategies. The first was entering early, and keeping out of the way. She had observed the other students in their disguises. One of them was clearly Justin Finch-Fletchley. He was talking to another student in disguise and his upper class accent clearly betrayed him.

The other strategy was arriving later, after the first students had been identified. Fewer students would be left, and your chances of being identified were greatly reduced. Half of the students had apparently decided to do so.

The students trouped into the Great Hall in a flurry of oooh and aahs. Hermione made a mental note not to react to the decorations when she would enter; she had just identified two fellow Gryffindors by their voice alone. Luna was wearing a ludicrous costume of a lion. She had apparently elaborated on her Quidditch outfit, adding a very flimsy mask that barely hid her face. She was obviously not interested in the competition in the slightest.

The quality of the costumes varied greatly. Some of the first year students wore little more than a white rag and a mask making them slightly translucent. They did not seem to mind; most of them were happily laughing away and pointing at each other. She fondly remembered her own first year at Hogwarts. The wonders of the castle still fresh and exciting. _Has she been that young too?_

Other students, most of them a head or two longer then the first years, had made very elaborate costumes. Hermione glanced at the enormous gift-wrapped present that was walking down the stairs. Either a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor (the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs entered through a side door closer to their dorms), and a girl by the looks of it. She had cascading brown hair with a tinge of red in it. She had a bow tie on her head. Hermione wondered if she recognised this student. There _was_ something familiar about her. But what was it?

She waited in the entrance hall for about five minutes before she made her way over to the great hall. She knew the decorations would be superb, but had to fight hard to keep from making a sound. The decorations were incredible. There were venetian masks everywhere, all talking soundlessly with each other. Some were making faces at students. There was a gigantic venetian mask hanging behind the teachers's desk.

There was a large podium in the middle of the great hall, on which at least a hundred students were dancing. Many of them were holding out wands, ready to unmask any student that they recognized. She saw a student dressed up like a mummy hold up his wand to Justin Finch-Fletchley, casting the Demasque-spell non-verbally. His mask dropped from his face, much to Justin's disappointment. Another student (dressed like a bee) pointed her wand at the human present. Her own mask fell off though. It was an interesting twist to the procedure. Identify a student correctly, and his or her mask fell off. Identify a student wrongly, and your own mask fell.

Quite a few students had lost their mask already. There must have been at least forty students dancing around the raised platform in the centre of the great hall. Hermione recognised quite a few of them, including Luna and Neville.

She stepped up on the podium. She realized her outfit was garnering some attention from the other students. She could see several of the unmasked students pointing at her. It had been a bit of a gamble, but she hoped that it would keep her in the competition for a little while at least.

The dance continued for about half an hour when most of the students had entered the great hall. Hermione had not been recognised yet, but she was under the impression that some of the other students were beginning have their suspicions. Harry had been walking up to her, dressed as a broomstick, when the human present got between both of them and unmasked him. She had let out a breath of relief then. The human present had been most effective student on the dance floor. She had unmasked several students, but many more had been unmasked guessing at her identity.

As more and more of the students became unmasked, the number of possibilities went down too. She had not anticipated this. Ten more minutes had passed, and over half of the students of Hogwarts were already unmasked. They were dancing merrily around the dance floor, most of them not wearing their masks. It was going to be a matter of time when somebody realized that there were only three girls left from the seventh years. Hermione figured that unmasking the last few students would happen very fast.

It was after the unmasking of Malfoy (dressed in a costume of a vampire) that the most interesting moment of the evening happened. One more student arrived at the doors of the Great Hall. At first, none of the other attendees noticed him. He was moving slowly, completely absorbed into his act. As he made his way over, people started to notice him. Flitwick apparently mistook him for an actual ghoul, because he took out his wand, ready to banish the foul-smelling thing. The headmistress stopped him.

All heads were turning to the new arrival. Laboriously making his way over to the dance floor, he grunted and moaned at each step, uncannily like a real ghoul. He held his arms to his side, as if he didn't know what to do with them, and his left foot dragged across the floor as if he had broken it. But the true magic of this costume was in the mask. Hermione instantly recognised the mastery and complexity of the mask's intricately detailed features.

Where all the other students were obviously wearing masks, this mask was an actual face. It was not a painted piece of wood, like many of the students. It was not a mask of paper pulp, which was overlaid with coloured pieces of cloth, like her own mask. This mask actually resembled a ghoul's face. The nose was shrivelled up and dried, one of the eyes was hanging from its socket, and the skin hung loose and was greyed. She wondered at how many spells had been needed to craft such a wonderful thing.

The ghoul had by now entered the dance floor, and was doing a silly little dance; it was flapping its arms wildly, moaning and groaning to the beat of the song. Hermione heard a chuckle escape her lips before regaining control and keeping silent. She hoped nobody heard her. The ghoul had obviously anticipated this, and had added a voice-altering charm to the mask, making his voice sound positively– well, ghoulish.

The dance wore on another hour. Quite a few students were unmasked guessing the identity of both the present and the ghoul wrong. Hermione racked her brains searching for who they might be. It was unnerving! There were less than twelve students left on the podium, which was now less than twenty square meters and which was raised more than two meters above the ground. She pointed her wand at a girl from fourth year, a Ravenclaw girl she would not have recognised if she had not been so small. She was dressed like a bowtruckle. It was a very clever outfit, hiding most of her features. Hermione had first scanned the dance floor below for her, and upon realizing she was not present there took out her wand. An obviously disappointed Ravenclaw left the podium. There were still two Ravenclaws unaccounted for.

The ghoul made his way over to her, still laboriously dragging his foot along. His mask allowed him to talk, a luxury the other students did not possess.

'Did you notice?' he asked, his voice warped into an unrecognisable grunt, 'Three of the contestants are checking out everyone but each other.'

Hermione scanned the dance floor. Everything seemed in order. Then, she noticed how one of the contestants, a boy in the costume of a fakir, was whispering to a girl dressed as a banshee. She nodded, then walked up to the contestant wearing a costume of a live sized bear, and unmasked him.

She nodded. 'Slytherins,' the ghoul said, 'But which is which?'

Hermione scanned the dance floor. There were still three Slytherins missing, only one of them a girl. She made her way over to the banshee, then pointed her wand. There really was just one option, and so, after completing the spell non-verbally, Pansy's mask dropped from her face. She was livid.

'Bitch!' she muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear. Unmasked students were not allowed to speak on the platform. They were to immediately leave the dance floor, so as not to influence the other contestants. 'My friends will find out who you are!'

Her friends had other problems though, because now there were only two Slytherins unaccounted for. One of them was a broad-shouldered boy gifted at potions. He was in his sixth year. The other was a tall and gangly kid from fourth year. He was well under way to outgrowing Ron. Several of the contestants converged on the Slytherins. The difference is height was rather noticeable. It took only five seconds, and Slytherin house had lost its last three students.

'Seven students left', the headmistress suddenly announced, 'We are nearing the end of this competition. Four of the Gryffindors remain, two Hufflepuffs, and a single Ravenclaw. '

Hermione did a quick tally of the Gryffindor's that had been unmasked. Harry was standing at the edge of the group, alone. That meant both Ron and Ginny were still in the race. She couldn't easily spot which of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were missing. Some of them were at the loo or had dived off, presumably to snog. After more than an hour and a half, Hermione could not remember who had been unmasked, and who remained unaccounted for.

Suddenly, there was movement. The human present walked forward and pointed her wand at the giraffe. It was a clever disguise; it hid almost all of the features of the student. Hermione wasn't even sure if it was a boy or a girl. When the giraffe's mask fell, the human present made a terrible mistake. She could not suppress saying 'Yes!'.

Instantly, three other contestants swooped in on her. Hermione would have joined, had the human present not been on the other side of the dance floor. The voice had confirmed her suspicions. The red sheen in her cascading brown hair, the short, slender legs, her flowery scent; the human present was Ginny.

She did not go down without a fight. Pointing her wand at one of her assailants, she managed to unmask him first. It was the final Ravenclaw; Michael Corner. They left the dance floor in a fit of laughter, even though the rest of the Ravenclaws moaned in frustration; no hundred points to help them up in the competition.

'Four students left!' the headmistress said, her voice full of excitement, 'What will be the conclusion?'

Hermione did another quick analysis of her situation. She was the only girl student from Gryffindor left. The two other Gryffindor students still in the game were Ron and fourth year student. Suddenly, the ghoul and the rhino were converging. Both of them raised their wands, but only one of the masks dropped. The ghoul had been a fraction of a second faster, perhaps because his arms were just a fraction longer. The rhino (another marvellous costume) had been Dean.

The three remaining contestants quickly moved to stand as far away from each other as possible. Hermione backed into a corner, just as the ghoul had done. The other contestant was a Hufflepuff dressed as troll. It was a rather elaborate costume, that was so thick and large that it was hard to pinpoint if it held a boy or a girl.

'The final showdown, people!' the headmistress announced. The music died down, and with it, all of the other sounds in the castle. The dance floor was now raised over three meters from the floor of the Great Hall. Hermione could see the eyes of all students and teachers were fixed on them. Even the ghosts and Peeves hung motionless in the sky. The paintings in the great hall were overflowing with people. Hermione spied Sir Cadogan standing on his horse to see over a group of warlocks in front of him.

The troll made a move. Having glanced down to the Gryffindors below, it had noticed the notable absence of Hermione and Ron. For a moment, it seemed to appraise their costumes. Then, it made for the ghoul. The ghoul did nothing. It either did not know who the troll was (neither did Hermione for that matter), or it was hoping it had guessed wrong.

The mask dropped as if in slow motion. She did not know the face behind it. He was a Hufflepuff, but she could not even tell what year he had been in.

'Two students left,' the headmistress said, 'Both Gryffindors!'

The other Gryffindors let out a scream of triumph. One hundred extra points had been added to their hourglass. They were now close to Hufflepuff, and Slytherin house was left at a comfortable margin. They were visibly unhappy.

'Only two costumes left,' the headmistress said, 'The masterfully crafted ghoul, and the innovative teacher.'

Hermione suppressed a feeling of satisfaction that her costume had been labelled innovative. She had recreated a teacher's robes, complete with wizarding hat and Hogwarts crest. Her mask was glamoured; anyone looking at it for too long would not see more details, but less, until the mask was completely devoid of shape to them. It had been one of the trickier spells to perform. It was well known to be among the most common spells requested to perform at N.E.W.T. studies.

She felt a much more powerful feeling of pride and wonder at the other description. Ron had apparently spent many hours working on his own costume. She had to say, it was indeed masterfully crafted. It didn't look like a costume at all! Hermione walked up to him. For a moment, she saw his hesitation, but stowing her wand in her pocket, she reached out and hugged him fiercely. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Ron even smelled like a ghoul.

Hermione realized there was only one option left. Carefully reaching into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her wand. She brought it up slowly. Ron did not seem to notice. His arms were pressing her tighter to him with every second.

* * *

It happened before he could do anything against it. Not that he cared how this game ended. They had won, whether Hermione unmasked him or the other way round. There he was, standing in front of the whole school, his arms wrapped tightly around Hermione. He did not intend to let her go before the end of the ball.

All of the time he had invested in his costume had certainly paid off. It had been fun working on that project. His parents had sometimes held costumed parties at home. Ron had learned much about what made a good costume then. Ron had recognised Ginny early on. She always changed her hair colour and her hair style at costumed balls, but never completely managed to get that red sheen out of it. Watching dozens of students guess her identity wrongly was more than amusing.

He had not recognised Hermione until she had let a single sound break from her lips. It was a chuckle, which he could have recognised from one of a million others. He had carefully guarded her from anyone that sought to unmask her ever since.

As he held her close, he realized more than ever before that this ball had been more than just that. For him, it had been a test of adulthood. He had known from the moment headmistress McGonagall had announced the ball that it would be the perfect opportunity to make amends for the fiasco that had been the Yule Ball. What better way to show Hermione how much he had grown and changed since then, but by reliving their worst night, but doing everything right this time?

He had spent a ridiculous amount of time on his costume, and had even made the effort of asking her out as his official date. That had been the worst part of everything. Ron hadn't minded working on his costume; that had been fun. Asking her out had been scary; what if she had rejected him? What if she had said no?

He was wondering what the rest of the school was thinking of this hug when he felt it drop. Hermione had taken out her wand, and unmasked herself. The glamoured mask that he had been staring at all evening, the one that had turned into an almost unrecognizable shapeless mass now fell from her face, revealing a Hermione that was smiling radiantly at him.

'Oh Ron!' she said, burying her face against his chest, 'Oh Ron!'

It seemed to be the only thing she could say at the moment. Hermione kept repeating it, while McGonagall made her way over from the teachers's bench, talking to the crowd about the dramatic conclusion of the Masquerade Ball. Ron did not hear a word she said. He stood transfixed, his arms tightly wrapped around Hermione, his senses unable to process anything other than her immediate closeness, the lovely smell of her hair, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. McGonagall had asked him something, but Ron had not heard. It took a considerable amount of willpower to focus his senses away from Hermione. The headmistress held the tip of her wand out towards him.

'My name,' he said, his voice still garbled by the charm on the mask, 'is Ronald Weasley.'

A loud chant of "Weasley is our King" came from his fellow Gryffindors. McGonagall waved her wand once, and his mask slowly slipped from his face. Several of the charms that he had placed on it dissipated, like the voice changing charm that had made his throat raspy by now, and the smell altering one that he swore had lodged the smell of ghoul in his nostrils of the remainder of the year. He felt Hermione stir, looking up at last from his chest to his face, a look of triumph and pride in her eyes. If this Ball had been a test, he was pretty sure had had passed.

Hermione lunged up, her arms wrapping round his neck as she pulled his face down. They met in the middle, Hermione on the tips of her toes, stretched out completely, Ron bending down awkwardly, completely unaware of the catcalls and wolf whistles that came from everyone around them. All Ron was aware of was Hermione's lips against his own. His tongue brushed them, and she parted immediately, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

The headmistress coughed. It was a courteous sign that was clear in its intentions: stop kissing now. Hermione seemed not to have heard. She attacked his mouth with as much fervour and enthusiasm as before. McGonagall gave another cough, this one louder, and more stern. Ron managed to pull away from Hermione, who seemed to startle out of a trance and instantly started blushing. She stepped back quickly backing away as far as the little podium would allow.

The ceremony for him winning the award for best costume, including the addition of one hundred glittering rubies in the Gryffindor House Points hourglass, went by in a daze. Ron stood answering several questions about his outfit, his eyes all the while focussed on Hermione. A shy smile was on her lips. Ron could not wait for the party to continue, and hopefully spend some more alone time with Hermione.

* * *

The Masquerade Ball had started at eight, and Ron had been declared the victor around ten. It was nearly twelve o' clock now, and the band had declared that the next song would be the last. It had been a great evening, and the perfect remembrance to Dumbledore. Many of the students were smiling and dancing, enjoying the party greatly. Several of the first and second year students were seated, some stifling yawns, others tipsy from covertly drinking butterbeer for the first time. In about ten minutes, everyone would be heading back to their common rooms.

As yet, most of the castle was deserted. Peeves was zooming around the kitchens, upending a large bowl of pudding, after which he was sent out by elf-magic. A couple of Ravenclaw fifth-years were moving up to their common room, wanting to spend a bit of time revising for their O.W.L. exams. The Bloody Baron was zooming through one of the dungeons.

The Gryffindor common room was empty at first glance. There was a fire going in one of the fireplaces, but other than that, it looked deserted. Closer inspection would have yielded an interesting sight; two pairs of feet dangling from a large arm chair facing the fire, its back to the entrance. In it were a ghoul and a teacher. She was perched on his lap, her hands around his neck. He was holding her waist, a possessive gesture she was more than comfortable with. Gazing into each other's eyes in silence, they both enjoyed the silence surrounding them. They were smiling.


End file.
